Bob Verdi: Blackhawks' blanket welcome warms everyone

March 09, 2008|BY BOB VERDI

Frozen out of a family for too long by small people with big titles, Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita returned to the Blackhawks on Friday night, better late than never. As this franchise takes quantum leaps toward mattering again in the standings, its efforts to repair pettiness of the past are astonishing. The sleeping giant not only has awakened, it moves rapidly.

Not so with the '57 Chevy convertible that slowly took the two legends onto the rink at the United Center, which was packed with fans and their memories. The vintage vehicle carried precious history, Hall of Famers exuding charisma, then and now. Alas, the only hitch about the ceremony was that it had to be staged at all. You shouldn't need to welcome back those who never should have left.

"It was worth waiting 36 years," Hull said afterward, still autographing hats in a private suite. "This whole thing, being asked to be part of hockey here again, it came out of nowhere. And I will take tonight to my grave."

"Like Bobby, I had given up," added Mikita, swarmed by family and friends nearby. "Then the phone rings, and you no longer feel unwanted in the building. The national anthem tonight, loudest I've ever heard a crowd here. Louder than the '91 All-Star Game across the street. Goose bumps."

The evening was a series of deft, classy touches. A splendid video presentation, a few clips in black and white. For warm-ups, all present Hawks wore a No. 9 or No. 21 sweater.

Before Hull and Mikita were introduced, Doug Wilson, another special talent who got away, was. So was current general manager Dale Tallon, who noted, "First time I've ever been cheered in Chicago."

And then Kevin Magnuson, wearing No. 3. "Keith would have loved this," said his widow, Cynthia.

Next ambassador to be reunited: Tony Esposito on March 19.

A warm feeling on a winter evening was assured by two mentions of those watching at home on TV. Ed Olczyk, the emcee, made one. And so did Rocky Wirtz, who received an ovation rarely accorded an owner. He and John McDonough are the stars who wear suits, can't skate and don't sign at card shows. But each day is an overtime game for the chairman and the president, because while they strive to innovate, there is so much catching up to do.

Wirtz admits the Hawks not only lost players and fans, they lost their way. To dwell on why is senseless. Instead, he resorts to Business 101. Yes, costs must be monitored. But more significantly, he aims to grow revenue, just like Hull and Mikita did in their prime.

A White Sox fan, Wirtz couldn't help but notice the track record of McDonough, who worked 24 years with the Cubs. Despite four division titles, they were 105 games below .500 during his tenure. Yet attendance rocketed from 1.4 million before he came to four straight seasons over 3 million before he left.

Wirtz adds "we hold no grudges" toward athletes who departed in a huff, or, by extension, customers who followed them out the door. The Hawks' well-earned disappearance from the radar wasn't solely a reflection of wins and losses. Even when the product was worthy, management's personality was chilly and motives suspect.

"We missed an entire generation of fans," Wirtz said. "And with that, players, free agents, didn't want to be here either. That has to change. That will change."